


Collections

by AK29



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-07
Updated: 2018-12-07
Packaged: 2019-09-13 15:54:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 4,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16895592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AK29/pseuds/AK29
Summary: Assorted prompts and drabbles from tumblr, all revolving around personal characters. Untagged, as it will be entirely uninteresting to anyone who doesn't know the characters in question.





	1. Banter

**Inquisitor:**  I’d like your opinion on the Inquisition.

**Ceallach:**  Mine? … Sure.

**Inquisitor:**  That’s… not a problem, is it?

**Ceallach:**  What? No, I just-! I’m making this a big deal. Sorry. Ask away.

> first wheel

**Inquisitor:**  What’s your opinion on my inner circle?

**Ceallach:**  You’ll have to be a tad more specific.

> second wheel

**Inquisitor:** What do you think about Iron Bull?

**Ceallach:**  He’s really big. [Giggles]

> back to second wheel

**Inquisitor:**  What about Blackwall?

**Ceallach:**  He’s different.

**Inquisitor:** And that’s bad?

**Ceallach:**  No, not at all! Just really surprising to meet a man that kind, that dedicated to other people’s safety and happiness. That’s rare.

**Inquisitor:** You sound like you admire him.

**Ceallach:**  Doesn’t everyone? He’s a Grey Warden. Yes, he’s a private sort of fellow but he’s done more good than anyone else here. I find that admirable, yes.

> back to second wheel

**Inquisitor:** You must have an opinion on Sera.

**Ceallach:** [laughs] Indeed.

**Ceallach:**  [bitter] I doubt we’ll be fast friends. She’s made up her mind about me as soon as she heard my title. [softer] And I won’t fault her for that. I’ve seen alienages. I might not have actively contributed to their suffering, but I’ve lived off their misery for many years.

**Ceallach:**  I’m in no position to judge her methods, as much as they might make me shake my head.

> back to second wheel

**Inquisitor:** What do you think of Cole?

**Ceallach:** Who? Oh wait… the young man.

**Ceallach:**  [uncomfortable] Someone… needs to talk to him about consent. I know he’s trying to help but he can’t keep doing what he’s doing.

**Inquisitor:**  Isn’t trying good enough?

**Ceallach:**  [stern] No.

> back to second wheel

**Inquisitor:** What do you think of Solas?

**Ceallach:**  I have to say I am… intimidated.

**Inquisitor:**  Really?

**Ceallach:**  [anxious] He carries himself with an authority that makes me want to avert my gaze, bow my head. He makes me feel like I’m talking to someone above my station.

**Ceallach:** Maybe that’s my own issues talking though. Still, I tend to avoid him. I doubt he minds.

> back to second wheel

**Inquisitor:**  What’s your opinion on Cassandra?

**Ceallach:**  She’s how we’re meant to be. Nobles, I mean. She doesn’t let herself get wrapped up in politics. She takes action where no one else wants to.

**Ceallach:**  If more of our world leaders were like her, we would never have fallen so far.

**Ceallach:**  [giggles] I almost want to say “I hope one day I’ll be like her”.

  
> back to second wheel

**Inquisitor:** So what about Varric?

**Ceallach:**  Good man. Good to have around when you’re not looking for a party, just a quiet smoke in the tavern.

**Ceallach:**  He seems lonely though. Leaving Kirkwall must have been hard on him.

> back to second wheel.

**Inquisitor:** How about Vivienne?

**Ceallach:**  I don’t know why everyone’s so hostile. She’s intimidating, sure, but she’s no more ruthless than anyone else here.

**Ceallach:** And she cares. About the mages, the Inquisition, the people of Thedas. Just because she’s not constantly weeping about it doesn’t make her heartless.

**Inquisitor:**  You seem a bit defensive about this.

**Ceallach:**  Maybe… I don’t know. I used to be like that. That I’d see a woman more powerful and more beautiful than myself and I’d hate her because I didn’t know anything else to do. It’s sad to watch others repeat my mistakes.

**Ceallach:** Her and Cassandra are more alike than you think. They should not be judged so differently. That’s all.

> back to second wheel

**Inquisitor:**  And Dorian?

**Ceallach:**  [enthusiastic] He’s great!

**Ceallach:**  I mean, with the mustache he does look a bit like you’d expect an [mock deep voice] evil tevinter magister to look like.

**Ceallach:** He’s effortlessly charming. I’ve never been around someone like that. It’s wonderful.

> back to second wheel

**Inquisitor:** I’d like to ask you about someone else.

**Ceallach:**  Sure.

> back to first wheel

**Inquisitor:**  What do you think about my advisors?

**Ceallach:**  Which one?

> third wheel

**Inquisitor:**  Have you met Josephine?

**Ceallach:**  Yes.

**Ceallach:** She seems nice enough. We get along well.

**Ceallach:**  Wish she’d stop asking about my family, though.

**Inquisitor:**  Is she bothering you?

**Ceallach:**  No! Dear Maker.

**Ceallach:** She wants to use my connections. It’s her job to do that but…

**Ceallach:**  I am not an emissary, nor a scion. I am here as myself. On my own. I prefer to keep it that way.

> back to third wheel

**Inquisitor:**  What did you think of Leliana?

**Ceallach:**  She gets too little recognition. I suppose that’s how it has to be, working in the shadows and what not.

**Ceallach:**  I am glad she finds comfort in the Chant, with all the death and destruction she’s had to deal with.

> back to third wheel

**Inquisitor:** What about Cullen?

**Ceallach:** That scar is awfully distracting…

**Ceallach:**  [clears throat] Anyways. He’s right for the job as far as I can tell.

**Ceallach:**  [mutters] Wish he’d stop barking orders when he’s right next to me, though…


	2. Banter (continued)

**Cassandra:**  Out of curiosity…

**Isaac:** Oivey. 

**Cassandra:**  I haven’t even asked yet!

**Isaac:** Considering the last time someone asked me something, the very same person transformed into a gigantic, golem-like heap of roughly two dozen individual corpses…

**Cassandra:**   _Ugh._

**Isaac:**  I had just about the same reaction.

**Cassandra:**  In all honesty, I simply wanted to know if you would have taken the offer to lead the Inquisition, if it had been extended to you.

**Isaac:**  I am a hunted apostate who is - more or less - married to a dalish maleficar. I’m sure there would have been a war if I ever tried to ascend some kind of religious big chair.

**Isaac:** Well. Even more of a war, I suppose.

**Cassandra:**  You are still the champion of Kirkwall and you could have been a champion for these people as well.

**Isaac:** Cassandra, don’t make the same mistake Anders made. I’m not interested in being in charge of anything. The last time someone placed any kind of expectations on me a city burned, hundreds died and a world war broke out. I have a wife, a dog and two little girls. If keeping my life with them means disappointing people, well… I’m rather good at that anyways.

**Cassandra:**  Two little…?

**Isaac:**  [fond] Two little abominations. Maeve chewed a hole clean through my boot. I have never been more proud.

**Cassandra:** How do you know it wasn’t the dog?

**Isaac:**   _Please_. The dog has  _standards._


	3. Banter (one mo' 'gain)

**Iron Bull:** So you ever use the sparkly magic crap in bed?

**Cathair:**  Not really. The Circle isn’t exactly the place where you learn to let out an electric pulse that is both small enough and precise enough to shoot into a nipple without electrocuting your partner.

**Iron Bull:** You’d think someone would have figured that out by now.

**Cathair:** Tell you what, we ever get the Circle back up? I’ll form a research group.

 

**Dorian:** It can’t be easy to have a templar for a sister. In the south at least, I’d expect that to be a big deal.

**Cathair:**  It is. I worry for her. The lyrium will kill her eventually and trying to stop taking it may kill her just the same. 

**Dorian:**  That’s not what I meant, exactly…

**Cathair:** I know. It’s still the only answer I can give you. I’m not scared of my sister.

**Dorian:**  I-… see.

**Dorian:** I should apologize. The question was personal and I should not have gone prying.

**Cathair:**  Ehhhhh don’t worry about it.

**Dorian:**  [laughs] And here I was so sure you were furious.

**Cathair:** Not really. People make a lot of assumptions about mages and templars. They think they know how we are, how we must be.

**Cathair:**  The truth is, when I saw my sister for the first time in 6 years… I couldn’t be angry. I still can’t. 

**Cathair:** Our family abandoned us both. It’s shit, but that doesn’t mean we need to turn on each other.

**Dorian:** She’s lucky to have her big brother, always ready to defend her.

**Cathair:**  She’s not reached her 30th year on this world and has killed for me already. She expects nothing less and I hate to disappoint.

 

 


	4. Strikhedonia

She stood at the trebuchet, her legs shaking violently.

It was all for nothing. She had fought, she had begged - begged yet again. All her life she’d begged the Maker for mercy and now she threw herself at the feet of this new god? He did not take the mark off her hand. He could not undo what happened at the conclave. 

The Maker did not hear her. This would-be god was no god in truth.

She put her hand on the wheel and smiled. There would be no whimpering

If she was to die today, she would take him with her. 


	5. Bronze

When Isaac met her she was a vision in bronze and fine leathers, standing at attention like any soldier and wielding authority as easily as her blade.

When Ceallach meets her, she is little more than a ghost.

She is a Warden, a Hero, a Queen but when she unwraps the linen bandages on her arm she looks less than human. There is an overwhelming sense of  _wrong_ that settles in Ceallach’s gut.  _This isn’t how it should be_.

She doesn’t unwrap a wound. Blood is something Ceallach knows well but this is much worse than that. Black veins and grey skin wet and glistening. Disgusting enough to make Ceal swallow her breakfast a second time. 

“It’s progressed farther than it should have. I don’t have much time.”

The Inquisitor swallows a lump in her throat, trying to sound less like a scared little girl. She somewhat succeeds.

“What if you can’t? What if no matter how hard you try, it’s impossible?”

For the first time in years, Catrióna Cousland averts her gaze.

“Then I die. Either way, I will not stand in the way of my husband achieving happiness, nor will I doom Ferelden’s royal bloodline.

After everything I have sacrificed, I refuse to be the downfall of my kingdom. 

It is a simple matter.”


	6. Fight Me

She saw her mistake long before she hit the ground. She should have blocked, not sidestepped.  
Had she blocked, she could have held her position easily but she’d settled on the more elegant move. It left her vulnurable for a second and that second was all Alistair needed to knock her backwards and put the tip of his blade at her throat.  
He stared at her for a moment before jumping up in excitement.  
“I WON! I WON!!  _FINALLY!_ ”  
Catrióna groaned. There’d be no living with him for at least another three weeks.  
With a frustrated sigh she got up.  
“You know, I promised my father I’d marry the first man to ever beat me in single combat.”  
That shut him up at least.


	7. Chantry Boys

Alistair attending mass, now in his thirties, remembering the words as if they were ingrained into his body just as his battle stances, as if they were a part of him. It is a part of himself, a part of his life that he _resents_ , when he was surrounded by those who wanted to force him to be something he is  _not_  - but he remembers finding some semblance of comfort in the text. 

His voice cracks on a high note somewhere and he grimaces, looking down, fingers trailing over what was once stubble and is now a scratchy, short beard and he flushes. But he doesn’t let that _stop_  him anymore, he simply clears his throat and picks up again where he left off.

Sebastian standing in front of the altar, facing the crowd, he leads the song with more than just confidence - he leads with  _joy_. There is a smile resting on his face that is not so much bliss as it is  _peace_. It all comes so  _easy_  to him, showing him that it is truly what he was meant to do. He brings the same peace to the attendees that he seeks himself - a peace he occasionally finds in Hawke.

He is not Hawke. He cannot be Kirkwall’s great champion, but he can _help_. There is nothing he wants more than to do his best, and contribute to the Maker’s plan in  _some_  way. If nothing else, he can do  _this._

Cullen is on his own in the deserted Chantry, singing for no one but himself, singing because the sad, empty building had  _bothered_  him in a way he didn’t think possible anymore. To him it was a testament to what had happened, a monument for what was about to come, how many other houses would soon be empty if they were not destroyed. His voice is heavy but he hits all the notes, out of dedication if not skill, and his eyes are closed because  _right now_  he simply does _not_  want to see the new scars of his world.

He still hears the Inquisitor entering, pausing in the doorway to listen in. It does not bother him and he is not that self-conscious anymore that he would stop when  _he_  is the being intruded upon. 

Not that he minds the intrusion. The world is a lonely enough place, he does not need to push away the few people that are left. 


	8. Sit tight

“DOWN!" 

She barely knocked Morrigan out of harm’s way, the fireball sizzling past her ear cloe enough to singe some hairs. Catrióna reached out to the woman on the floor. “A verbal warning would have been sufficient”, Morrigan huffed but took the hand nonetheless.

They were both bruised and bloody. Morrigan looked to be in a better state than she was, but that wasn’t saying much. She’d lost Zevran. Last time she saw him he’d been trying to reach the emissary but now he was nowhere to be found. And Alistair…

Alistair was trapped and fighting three hurlocks at once - or trying to. And between him and her more hurlocks than she cared to count. Leaving her choke point would make the battle fall into chaos. But not leaving it…

She put a hand on Morrigan’s shoulder. “You hold this point.” 

Her friend frowned at her. “And how? Transform into a giant bear and-” She paused. “Actually…”

Catrióna smiled and nodded and made a run for it. She put her shield up before her and knocked aside what she could and hacked at what she couldn’t.

"I’m coming, just sit tight!”, she muttered under her breath.

She never saw the arrow that pierced her chest.


	9. The ghost

It was still far from dawn when Hailwic stumbled into the small tavern in Skyhold, requented by all residents, not just her soldiers. The hall was almost empty except for the ones who had passed out on the floor including one large grey heap that could only be one person. Hailwic carefully stepped over him. 

Nothing would have ever made her get up at such an ungodly hour but her nightmare woke her up. Her left hand still pulsated painfully and her pulse still raced at that uncomfortable pace, just a little bit elevated. She’d grabbed what clothes had been lying on the floor and taken 10 seconds to brush her hair so the tangles wouldn’t bother her later. She’d also made sure to bandage her left hand, lest the eery glow alarm anyone.

Not that her appearance worried her at this point. She knew she had dark circles under her eyes almost constantly now. 

The only ones left awake were Solas and Blackwall. They’d both retired to one of the corner booths near a fireplace, quietly chatting, a sound only occasionally accentuated by Blackwall’s deep laugh. Blackwall saw her and gestured for her to join them.

“How kind of you to join us. Shouldn’t you be sleepting though?”, Solas inquired, a calm smile resting on his face. He didn’t look tired at all.

Hailwic hopped onto the plush bench and propped her feet up on the table with a sigh.

“The great thing about having a freakish green glowing hand is apparently that now I also dream.” She fumbled for her pipe. “Which probably makes me the only dwarf who wakes up at absurd o'clock.

What about you?”

Creases appeared at the corners of Blackwall’s eyes as he smiled.

“When you reach my age as a Warden, the nightmares are a bit hard to ignore.”

Hailwic made an empathetic face, not knowing what to respond to that. Instead they both looked to Solas.

He raised his hands in defense. “Hey, I sleep almost all of the time. You practically recruited me for my sleeping skills. I’ll be happy to stay awake for a few hours.

She laughed and finally had her pipe out. It was a pretty thing and fairly new - she’d seen it at the market one day and simply had to buy it. It seemed ludicrous to spend the money on such trivial things but with the world in balance, Hailwic would rather have a few smokes too many than not enough. 

"I didn’t take you for the type”, Blackwall noted as he took out his own.

“Eh, I have stereotypes to uphold.”

Solas chuckled in a way that betrayed his age more than his looks ever did. 

For a long time Hailwic did nothing but listen to the two men talking, closing her own eyes and letting the familiar practice of smoking lull her into a pleasant state of consciousness.

That is, until she noticed something peculiar about the fireplace.

“Are those… turnips…?”

Blackwall and Solas looked at each other.

“Did you notice…?”

“No. Did you?”

Iron Bull used his two seconds of partial consciousness to chime in

_“It wash the ghosht of the castle.”_


	10. Staves

“One Staff of Parthalan for the ‘stache, one Freedom’s Call for the Almost-First-Enchanter…”

Vivienne looked at the staff, appaled. “Are those… dead dogs?”

Varric laughed. “It’s called  _art!_ Well, somewhere I guess.”

“Aaaaand I have one more for the elf.”

Solas looked at the naked woman at the top of his weapon and pursed his lips.

“The things humans do to their religious figures…”

Vivienne looked at him. “Would you mind?”

The elf laughed. “No way. You keep the dead puppies.”

Sera sat on top of a big chest, scratching her nose.

“I mean, I’m all for taking from the rich fugitive anarchists and giving it to the poor military organization currently conquering Thedas, but isn’t he going to miss these?”

Cassandra shrugged. “He can come ask  _me_  for a refund if he wants to.”


	11. Remember Me

_To me,_

_there is a young man in your keep. His name is Cole. He wears a huge, droopy hat with a metal cap that kind of looks like a breast. You made a joke about it once and called it Iron Boob. Bull thought it was really funny._

_You keep forgetting him because he’s a ghost. Or a spirit. Well, something from the Fade. He’s invisible unless you go looking for him. I know that makes no sense, but let’s be honest it’s certainly not the weirdest shit that happened in the last month._

_He gets lonely. Remind Solas of his existence. Go look for him right now, you probably haven’t spoken in weeks._

_PS: Yes, he’s the one who put all the onions in the fireplace and made the tavern smell like dog poop for three days. Try not to remember that part._

Hailwic frowned at the note. She did not remember ever putting it in her pocket. She almost thought Sera was pranking her, then realized that it was undoubtedly her own sloppy handwriting. 

Rubbing the back of her neck, Hailwic went to search for someone with a big droopy hat.

“Heh.  _Iron Boob._..”


	12. Horse girl

Hailwic was the “horse girl” as it were. Not that anyone dared to say that to her face - as small as she was, most people still respected her title - but it wasn’t like she hadn’t seen the playful eye rolling, heard the small chuckles when yet again she was in the stables instead of her chambers.

It bothered her, but only a little. She knew her friends meant no harm and it wasn’t their fault that something as simple as a small comment could upset her, so she swallowed it and didn’t say anything. It never upset her for too long anyway.

Because horses were for humans and now she had her own. She had no name yet but she was the best horse Hailwic had ever seen. Her height made her intimidating, but her coat was a light yellow and her face the friendliest face she’d ever seen. Her big snout was darker than the rest of her, her socks white and her hooves mostly pink. 

Cassandra had advised against her. The mare did not inspire the same respect that the armoured war horse did. But Hailwic had brushed that warning away. “They’ll laugh the second they’ll see the proportionately tiny rider anyway. I’m not exactly intimidating myself.”

The Seeker had not known what to say to that and they’d ended the conversation then and there. 

When little 6 year old Hailwic had seen the sun and the market and the world for the first time, a horse was a silly dream. Something she could never have because it was impractical. That was the first time Hailwic remembered being ridiculed for something she liked. It was hardly the last time.

Now, that dream was not as prominent as it had been then but nevertheless it had come true. It meant a lot.

With a little swing in her step, Hailwic stopped in front of the horse’s small table and stood on her tip toes, stretching out her hand to let the animal smell her. The mare had learned to bow her head a little for her small rider and it warmed Hailwic’s heart to see they were both equally happy to see each other.

Still, if only she were just a little taller, she could-

“I GOT SOMETHIN’ FOR YA!”

The yelling scared some of the other horses, but Sera paid them no mind, taking wide steps in her boots, carrying a…

“That’s a step ladder. You got me a step ladder.” Hailwic laughed, as much amused as she was perplexed.

“Andraste’s knickers, you’re amazing! We need to tell Cass to recuit you into the Seekers! Yes, it’s a step ladder, oh great leader. Thought you might have a use for it.”

Sera put the little wooden construction down in front of Hailwic. “’S shit heavy though.” “I think I can handle it, thanks.” “Riiight, I forgot, you can tear the arms off ogres.” Hailwic gave the elf an unimpressed glare and stepped onto the ladder. She could reach all the way up to the horse’s ear now. The mare seemed just as excited about the new development as she was.

“She still needs a name…”, she muttered to herself.

“Nughumper.”

Hailwic threw Sera a look.

“Whaaaat? I’m just tryin’ to help…”


	13. Hair

Vivienne was the one to come forward about the hair removal potion. 

Which was really a good thing, since Hailwic had neither the actual nor metaphorical balls to  _ever_  approach the woman about it.

She hadn’t known what to make of the Enchanter at first - there was nothing in particular that made Hailwic uneasy, merely the fact that Vivienne looked far too much like the noble ladies she had had the misfortune of meeting.

The kind that either sneered at the dirty little rat of a dwarf or petted her head in badly feigned pity. Either way Hailwic found that men and women of noble birth did not take well to her. Not that anyone else did, but at least the lowest of the low had the decency to just punch her in the face and get over with it.

Maybe Hailwic was just intimidated by her. 

Vivienne excelled at everything she herself failed at. Vivienne was beautiful beyond measure, graceful, tactful, kind when she wanted and merciless and cold when she needed to be.

It was petty, ugly,  _vicious_  and months later she would hate herself for it but Hailwic tried really hard _not_  to like her.

Of course, the first time the mage called her  _darling_ , all resentment whooshed out of Hailwic and left only guilt and hatred directed inward. Where it belonged.

From then on Hailwic made sure to clean herself up before she came within five feet of Vivienne’s gorgeous chaise-longue. Nevermind sitting on the thing.

“We have two options but unfortunately one requires magic.” Vivienne spoke with her back towards Hailwic and her fingers gently touching her collection of flasks but her voice was as clear as could be.

“And I’d rather not risk agitating your… newly acquired beauty mark.”

Hailwic snorted. Then cleared her throat and crossed her ankles under the Enchanter’s stern gaze.

“Ah, there we are.” The flask was bright pink - of course it had to be pink, lesson in humility and all that - and didn’t look like it was made for drinking. 

“You’ll put it on whatever area you wish and the hair will fall out after a few seconds. The downside is you will be walking around stubbly should we ever run out of blood lotus. Oh don’t look at me like that, it’s not  _poisonous_.”

“Right. But if you ever hand me a deodorant that has death root in it, I’m calling bullshit.”

“Fair enough, darling. If you want I’m sure I have some foundation in your pale complexion-”

“Atatatatatatattata-!”, Hailwic blurted. “Baby steps.”

The mage smiled. “Naturally.” She was just on her way out when Vivienne adressed her a final time.

“I hope you are doing this for yourself. Attention is pleasant but you’ll have more chances of both gaining it and surviving its repercussions with confidence.”

Hailwic rubbed the back of her head. “Right. I knew that.”

She left Vivienne feeling content, awkward and a little swing in her steps.


	14. Amatus

Dorian snorted, a sound that was decidedly out of character for the man and accompanied by an unseemly blush. He was pressed into the bookshelf, one of the precious tomes falling out. Sacrilege, really. 

And he didn’t give a _damn_  for some reason.

Alright, not  _some_  reason. A very particular reason who was currently holding up another book to shield their faces from the others. Whether that worked was a question best left to philosophers because Dorian could not care if he tried.

Gently - and still very much accompanied by undignified giggles - he felt his lover’s lips on his own and poorly tried to stifle the laughter bubbling up in his chest.

“Amatus, not to criticise but we could at least go up to your quarters before making arses out of ourselves.”

The elf laughed, a wondrous sound that could untie knots in Dorian’s stomach when nothing and no one else could.

“Too late for that now. Besides, if anyone’s got a problem they can talk to me and we’ll see how that works out for them.”

Dorian had a witty retort but it got drowned out in the next kiss. And while it was a very good retort it did not seem like too much of a waste, truth be told.


	15. Kaffas

“Kaffas–ow!” Dorian tugged at his lover’s hair and Idris seperated himself with a downright comical wet popping sound. Dorian had very little idea about how the Dalish approached sex but he figured that his amatus’ habit of clinging to his neck like a leech was more of a personal quirk than a cultural one. 

“Sorry.”, Idris murmured.

“You know I usually don’t mind just… watch the teeth will you? Your canines are ridiculously sharp. Not enough to get me to make some unsavory remark about your parentage, but not far from that point either.”

That earned him a scowl and Idris comepletely disentagled himself, stalking over to the bed and leaving Dorian standing alone and suddenly a bit cold next to the fire. Blasted Ferelden weather couldn’t be held at bay by anything less than a warm body at close hand. 

When he turned around Idris had settled on the bed in a mock-seductive pose. “Alright, if you think you know how to do this properly, how about you show me?”

Dorian chuckeled and made sure his hips swayed just a tiny bit as he walked over to him. “If I remember correctly, everytime I do I get accused of being a show off.”

“Well, this time I’m asking.”

“Very well. But you really ought to listen to me one of these days and be careful what you wish for.”

When barely five minutes later Idris was whining and panting and just about going  _mad_ from gentle teeth grazing sensitive skin he was grateful for not being more careful.


End file.
